


Trap Door Trigger

by greenapricot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-13
Updated: 2006-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/pseuds/greenapricot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Sam kisses Dean they’re in the basement of some house in some town in some state that neither of them can remember later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trap Door Trigger

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2006. Title from a line in 90-Mile Water Wall by The National.

The first time Sam kisses Dean they’re in the basement of some house in some town in some state that neither of them can remember later. Another day’s work in another anonymous suburb. Except. There’s no such thing. 

It comes out of nowhere, out of somewhere, but not the somewhere they’d been expecting. The thing is inches from sticking its claws straight through Dean’s chest and out the other side before they even see it. Sam barely has time to squeeze off a shot before blood is welling up through Dean’s shirt, blue quickly turning to black. 

The shotgun blast, the screams as the thing is sucked back to wherever the fuck these things come from, the fire too close to Dean’s face. Sam isn’t sure he’s ever going to get used to it. Ever going to get the picture of Dean almost dead, again, out of his head. 

_Dean in a hospital bed looking small and nearly transparent, like death is leaching up into him through the bed. The sickening thud as Dean’s body hits the floor, too red bullet hole in his forehead._

Sam drops his gun - one step, two step, one movement - puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders. Dean’s eyes are shocky, too bright, to dark, not the right pupil to iris ratio. Sam places his hands on either side of Dean’s face, mutters something that starts out as _You’re okay_ in his head but is nothing but a murmur as it passes his lips. 

Dean’s breathing is starting to slow. 

He hasn’t said anything yet. 

Sam rubs his finger across Dean’s cheek smearing blood like war paint. War paint for a war where the enemy is everywhere and nowhere and Sam’s not sure anymore that there will be an end. Or that he wants there to be. Dean looks at Sam, into Sam, and Sam plants a kiss right on Dean’s mouth. For a split second the flashes in Sam’s mind stop. For a split second it is warm and inviting and they are not covered in blood having narrowly escaped death again. For a split second Dean almost opens his mouth to Sam’s. A split second before Dean takes a step back and a step back, like a shot. Until he’s back against the wall arms spread, fingers splayed, as if trying to hold himself up, to hold himself together. Chest heaving blood through the holes in his shirt. 

Sam’s name echoes in the sulfury air.

Dean passes out in the passenger seat of the Impala on the way back to the motel Sam’s bloody hand prints staining his cheeks. Sam mutters _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,_ to Dean and himself and beneath his breath as he drives.


End file.
